Vices of Victory
by Jolie.Mots
Summary: I am not my own, I belong to them now. Every day that passes, they break another piece of me away, and soon there won't be anything left. I am a victor, a wife, their Girl on Fire. A living sacrifice to keep everyone I love alive. My name is Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, and this is my story.
1. Prologue

**Warning: **This story has mentions of drug and alcohol use, disordered eating, and non-consensual sexual encounters.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Hunger Games.

**Prologue**

_My arms are not strong enough._

_That is clear immediately. I can feel myself weakening, the pain is searing and yet I continue to hold on. I cannot let go._

_I cannot let go._

_But then it becomes too much. I see everything and everyone I care about slipping through my too-weak grasp. I can't breathe through the stifling scent of roses and I suddenly realize petals and blood are raining down around me, drowning me. I can feel the blood on my skin, sticky and warm._

_Prim's face in anguish, Gale's gray eyes lifeless, my mother gone from me forever, Peeta…_

_Peeta's face is calm, but his blue eyes are filled with torment. His voice is soft as he whispers my name, "Katniss…"_

_I try to grasp his hand, but I cannot; he grows farther and farther, but his voice continues in my head, reminding me that I could not save him._

"_Katniss, Katniss…"_

I jolt awake, my breath coming in heavy gasps as I try to suck in as much untainted air as I can. There are arms reaching for me and I immediately shy away.

"Katniss, it's okay. It was just a nightmare; you're fine, you're okay." I finally realize that it's Peeta who is reaching for me, who is speaking calmly and sweetly to me.

A sob rips up my throat and I collapse into him, suddenly aware that I am sweaty and tangled up in the damp sheet. My nightmares have been getting worse, but then again, I had been expecting that.

Peeta is still speaking in soothing murmurs, petting my tangled hair away from my face and rocking me like you would a child until my breathing evens out and the tremors cease.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, but he just continues to hold me, even though he is probably being plagued with demons of his own right now.

After a few more minutes, I pull away and get out of bed. It is still dark outside, but I know I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep even if I tried. The sweat is cooling on my skin and all I can think about is the raining blood running over my body, clinging to it.

When my eyes adjust to the bright light of the bathroom, I strip down and take in my reflection.

Dark circles under my eyes, hair lank and dull, bones that are just a tad too prominent. It has been a rough few weeks.

I sigh, not wanting to think about why I have been deprived of a good night's sleep, why my appetite has been absent, and why my family has been forced to deal with my moods.

I take off the simple gold band that I have grown accustomed to being on the ring finger of my left hand ever since my marriage to Peeta. While it was rough in the beginning, our relationship has smoothed out since, allowing us to live together as intimate partners, if not the passionate lovers that all of Panem still got to see.

The hot water washes away the sticky sweat as well as any lingering thoughts about the nightmare. I had developed the skill to compartmentalize, even though this leads to a festering of bitterness that I hadn't yet figured out a way to temper.

Peeta is knocking on the door much too soon, a soft reminder that today, unlike most of the days I have now, I have a schedule to keep.

The dress is simple, but I am still uncomfortable as I shimmy into the dark green material. After getting used to my hunting gear and casual clothes, the hem that skims my mid thigh feels much too short, the neckline just a bit too low. I scowl at the mirror, not liking the image scowling back at me.

Peeta comes up from behind and starts to gently comb through my still-wet hair with his fingers.

"That's a pretty dress." He murmurs, smiling at me in the mirror as he continues to ease out the tangles from my dark tresses.

I don't respond, looking at how the dress hangs loose on my frame. As I became older and became someone's wife, the Capitol has expected that I start leaving the flushed and innocent girl look behind and begin embracing the alluring woman image. That has meant hems that inch up a bit further, material that clings a bit closer, and necklines that dip a bit lower.

However, the few curves I had managed to develop due to a steady diet have disappeared in the past month or so, just as they had the year before. I can't help but feel satisfied at this tiny form of disobedience. After all, it was all I really could do out of defiance at this point. Of course, when the time came for more important appearances, my prep team would do damage control. Until then, I will defiantly display my skinny legs and imperfect hair.

Once we are both ready, Peeta in his crisp white shirt and I with my feet stuffed into uncomfortable black heels, we make our way downstairs, preparing to go to Haymitch's and drag him away from his bottle; after that, we will make our way to the square of District 12.

The Reaping of the 76th Hunger Games beckoned, and we three victors were about to meet our new tributes.


	2. I am Not Katniss Everdeen

**Chapter 1**

The sun is too hot, the air is too stifling, the chair is too hard, Effie is too bright, and the square is too full.

I squirm again, tugging at the bottom of my dress and scanning the crowds of children for a familiar blonde head.

"Relax," Peeta whispers into my ear, his breath tickling my skin. I continue to watch as Prim fidgets a bit where she stands with the other 14-year-old girls. She glances up for a second and I catch her eye, watching as her look of concern is wiped away to make room for her small smile.

I know it's only for my benefit. I know that she is just as nervous as she was for the previous two reapings. I know I won't be able to volunteer for her again, a realization that had broken me into sobs the previous year. I shudder, remembering the anguish I had been in while sitting here for the year before, for the reaping of the 3rd Quarter Quell.

_ "To remind the districts that their decision to rebel forced brother to fight against brother, cousin to slaughter cousin, and friend to betray friend, each child will be paired with another of close relation, with whom they shall be reaped if their single slip is pulled."_

Snow's announcement of that Quell had been followed by days of terror that my family would have to watch not one, but two of our children in the arena. The names Primrose Everdeen and Rory Hawthorne, known as cousins to everyone else, had been on their joined slips in one big reaping ball.

I still feel guilty about how relieved I had been when Teralee and Mitt Stinell had been called on that terrible day. The Stinells had lost both of their children. I still could not look them in the eye.

I allow myself to block out the Mayor's speech, detailing how we had come to this day, what the Hunger Games represented, and listing the District 12 victors. I give a small wave to unenthused applause as my name is called with Peeta's and Haymitch's before zoning off again, reluctant to stay too much in the present. It has become a way to cope.

A loud _huff_ from the speakers jolt me back to the present horrors and I look around to where Effie is now tapping at the microphone as she always does to get everyone's attention.

"Welcome, welcome everyone! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Today, we shall be picking one young man and one young woman who will have the honor to represent District 12 in the 76th annual Hunger Games." Effie's Capitol lilt and shockingly bright turquoise outfit make my insides twist, knowing I will be surrounded by Capitol color and grandeur all too soon. I refuse to imagine Prim on the train with me.

"Ladies first!"

I feel everything in me tighten in anticipation and reach for Peeta's familiar and warm hand. He clasps mine just as tightly.

After dramatically stirring, Effie comes away with the chosen slip of paper clasped in her talon-tipped fingers, taking much too long unfolding it. I nearly spring from my seat and rip it from her hands to read it myself.

As she leans slightly in towards the microphone I close my eyes, not caring about the cameras.

"Thalia Velor." Effie calls and I sigh in relief, but I maintain enough control to show no outward sign of emotion. I feel Peeta's hand squeeze mine and I squeeze back.

Then I see Thalia Velor making her way to the stage from the 13-year-old section, visibly trembling and swallowing back fear. She is younger than Prim.

I look away as Effie titters on excitedly, her arm around Thalia's skinny little shoulders as she introduces District 12's female tribute to the world. She then hops over to the other side of the stage, reaching in to retrieve the boy's name. Another clench of fear tightens my stomach, hoping beyond hope that whoever gets pulled doesn't have the last name Hawthorne.

"Westen Kinsey."

I allow myself to breathe for what feels like the first time since I climbed the stage steps. Another year survived. Just twelve more months before I have to feel fear this intense, ignoring the fact that there always seems to be something to be afraid of.

But first….

My eyes find the backs of the two kids we will try to bring home. Of course, only one, if either, will see District 12 again. The tall 17-year old merchant boy and the too-thin 13-year old Seam girl. The Treaty of Treason is read, but I cannot really remember the last time I actually ever listened to it. Before I know it, the two tributes are being hustled into the Justice Building and Peeta is tugging gently on my elbow.

We have an hour before the train leaves, and so we head home to spend it with our families, just like last year. Effie escorts us in the car to the Victor's Village, and is happily jabbering away about how "this feels like it will be such a good year!" and how she "couldn't wait to see my two favorite victors" and then all about how "the Capitol is _still_ going on and on about how the 74th Games had been the best ever, perhaps even better than the fabulous 3rd Quell."

I nod and smile at the appropriate times since Effie has kind of grown on me and I don't like to upset her, but that is the extent to which I participate. She leaves us at the door to our house where my mother, Prim, and the Hawthornes are already setting out a celebratory lunch, although it feels wrong to celebrate escaping the reaping since now we have to go to the Capitol as mentors.

"Do you need help?" I ask as Prim slices through the meat of the wild bird that I had shot on my earlier hunt.

She giggles and I tug at her braid, "What's so funny?"

"Well, it's just that you're better at catching the food than preparing it." She laughs again and I just roll my eyes.

"You can help me set out the plates, Katniss." My mother presses a stack of china into my arms and I comply, my eyes taking in the room about me as I do it.

Peeta is laying out the cheese buns, garlic rolls, and sweet bread that he had baked this morning, Gale is playing some kind of hiding game with Posy, Prim is finishing up the meat platters, and mother is cleaning up the counters. Vick and Rory had gotten into my box of backup bowstrings and were plucking at them. Hazelle is slicing some vegetables while scolding her sons for messing with things they ought not to touch. Haymitch is nowhere to be seen, which probably means he is drunk somewhere.

I don't want to leave. I don't want to be pulled from this twisted little bubble of peace we have, especially because of how precarious it is; it always hangs dangerously in the balance, all dependent on whether I behaved or not.

"I should be heading back to my family. My mom made lunch and was insistent that I join them." Peeta wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me away from my desperate thoughts.

I lean back into his warm embrace, wishing that he didn't have to leave. His mother still is not exactly my biggest fan, although I have a feeling that her coldness is more to do with who my mother is rather than myself; either way, them joining us for a friendly lunch is farfetched.

"I'll see you soon." I reach up to catch his familiar lips in a kiss, reluctant to part from him at all today. I feel exhausted already.

He just smiles in response before bidding everyone else goodbye and heading back to town. I have a hurried meal, quickly stuffing myself on the little feast that had been set out, and just as I am licking the residual goat cheese off my fingers, a sharp rap sounds from the front door.

I kiss Prim's cheek and hug my mother awkwardly before waving to the rest of the table. Gale doesn't meet my eye and I sigh inwardly; our friendship has fractured into an awkward partnership, which now only surfaces on our hunting trips every Sunday. Just one more thing I've lost to the Hunger Games.

Effie _tuts _disapprovingly when I open the door. She is eyeing my disheveled dress, which probably has a few food stains on it now seeing as I had been deliberately careless during lunch.

"You see, this is why I have to come early. I cannot wait until you and your hopeless appearance are back to being Cinna's responsibility." I roll my eyes as she pulls me up the stairs while continuing to moan about how we would never be on time and would always be hideous wrecks if it were not for her. I have to agree with Effie on this one, though.

She is rummaging through the small trunk of clothes that Cinna had sent over, each garment labeled, while I strip down to my underclothes. This green one had been labeled _reaping_ while the few other garments had been tagged _backup_. I guess he knew me too well.

"Ah, this one is lovely!" It's another green fabric, although this frock is lighter. When I slip it on, I realize that, while it still is skimming a little higher on my legs than I would have liked, it at least wasn't as offensive in the chest area.

"Are Peeta and Haymitch already at the station?" I ask as she painfully cinches the belt around my waist, determined to create curves where there aren't many. She would have been pleased to see me eating so much earlier, when I had been lost in the illusion of peace and security with my family.

"Oh, you know Haymitch. That's why I came here first so you can help me get him into the car. Peeta is going to meet us there." Effie is now combing her cold fingers through my hair, pulling it back into a knot at the back of my head.

While she is no Cinna, I can't help but admire her quick work. The hairstyle she has hastily pulled together is not the elaborate works that my prep team often craft, but it does make my hair look a bit fuller and the artfully escaped wisps nicely frame my hollow cheeks. The dress, too, was an expert pick, seeing as the fitted waist and rippling folds of the skirt help to mask my recent weight loss.

"Never underestimate what chiffon can do." Effie is smiling genuinely at me and I can't help but smile back.

"Thanks, Effie. But what does it matter? We are just going to the train."

"Don't be silly, Katniss. You know there will be cameras at the station. Besides, a lady is always conscious of her appearance. Alright, we better be off to get Haymitch. It wouldn't do to be late for the train." Effie claps her hands twice to get me moving and I hurry into my soft flats, which have thankfully replaced the heels.

But when she opens the door, someone is on the other side, hand hesitantly raised to knock.

"Gale." I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.

Effie is about to decline when I cut her off, "Go start rousing Haymitch. I'll be over to help in a minute."

She purses her lips in disapproval but leaves all the same, muttering about how difficult we make things on her.

My stomach is fluttering again and I wonder when I started being so nervous around Gale, the person who probably knows me better than anybody else.

_ No. He knew the old Katniss better than anybody else. _ I_ don't even fully understand this person I've become._

There is silence for another beat before he speaks.

"I just wanted to say goodbye." He says awkwardly. Huh. Awkward seems to define every interaction we have now. Another pang of sadness twists my stomach.

"Well, goodbye." I can't find anything else to offer in response.

"I also wanted to give you something." He reaches into his pocket and holds out a small leather pouch for me to take. I look at it apprehensively before holding out my hand.

Instead of letting me take it, he dumps its contents into my palm.

Small berries from the bush near our place in the woods land in my hand, and I sadly bring one to my mouth, tasting its familiar tartness.

"A reminder of who you were, Catnip." He whispers and I can barely hear the words.

He's been doing this ever since I explained to him how I was a different person, giving me small gifts, bringing up old memories, in an attempt to bring back the girl he so dearly missed.

I hand back the rest of the berries and shake my head sadly, "I'm sorry, Gale."

I leave quickly before he can respond, unwilling to see his hurt expression or the berries smashed in his clenched hand, dark and bloodlike juice dripping off his fingers onto the carpet.

As I slam the front door behind me and hurry to help Effie persuade an inebriated Haymitch into the back seat, I am thrown back to the memory of my wedding day, that first time I had actually realized I wasn't the same person anymore.

_One Year Ago_

This wasn't me.

They were wrong when they said I had survived the arena. I'm sure that Peeta had changed, too. Yes, 24 tributes had died in the arena. They did every year.

Because this is not Katniss Everdeen, this person standing in front of a mirror wearing an extravagant, beaded wedding dress. Katniss Everdeen did not wear her hair piled in sleek, dark curls on top of her head. Katniss Everdeen did not have elegantly arched eyebrows, hairless skin, red painted lips, or long lashes. Katniss Everdeen wouldn't even be getting married in the first place. And if she had been…

No. That train of thought is not allowed. She would not have gotten married, no matter who was waiting at the end of the aisle.

I reach behind my ear in search of the familiar scar I had received when I had fallen out of a tree while with my father on a hunting trip so long ago, but my fingers only brush over smooth skin. I reach for the faintly raised line on my forearm from a snare accident just a few years ago; Gale had laughed at my attempt to stifle tears as he had wrapped my bleeding arm in a scrap of material. Once again, the only thing my probing fingers find is smooth, clear skin. I know that the birthmark on my back had been wiped away as well.

Because when the Capitol had pulled the broken, raw, and hollow shell of a person from that arena, they had proceeded to erase any remnants of the person that had once been Katniss Everdeen.

No, this is not Katniss Everdeen. I cannot believe it has taken me so long to come to this realization. Somehow, though, it is comforting rather than disturbing. I am relieved.

Almost.

"Oh, Katniss!" Prim runs into the room with a dramatic gasp, her bright smile lighting up my dark thoughts. "You are so beautiful!"

"Oh, not as beautiful as you are!" I say, kneeling down to smooth the skirt of her dress, but it is already perfect. I won't ever get used to her not needing me, so I stubbornly pat the beautiful pink skirt.

"Alright, it's time." Cinna, who had quietly entered behind my family, says to me.

I look up at my mother, but I don't find comfort there. She is smiling too, but it is tight and forced, her blue eyes not quite meeting my gaze.

_I am not Katniss Everdeen_.

It is a soothing thought, so I think it every time the nerves almost return.

My mother, along with Peeta's parents, disappears through the large wooden doors where a crowd of Capitol elite, previous victors, and a small group of family awaits. They are followed by Effie and Haymitch, who are reluctantly linked at the arm, Effie's gaudy bejeweled dress swishing with a slight clinking sound with every step.

_I am not Katniss Everdeen._

Peeta's older brothers are each accompanied by a pretty Capitol escort and are ushered in next.

Prim follows, and my overwhelming instinct to protect her itches to pull her back and away from the vipers waiting beyond the doors.

_ I am not Katniss Everdeen._

An usher directs me towards the doors next and my heart hammers against my ribs.

_I am not Katniss Everdeen._

_ I am not Katniss Everdeen._

_ I am not Katniss Everdeen._

It's repeated like a mantra now, the only thing keeping my feet moving forward over the threshold.

I am assaulted by the flashes of light as cameras hungrily capture my image.

_I am not Katniss Everdeen._

The long and cavernous hall is dripping in icy white decorations, frosted with drapes of material and layered with clusters of flowers.

I search around the room while moving down the impossibly long aisle. I find familiar faces in the front row, where my mother and Prim are standing in front of their seats, but quickly avert my gaze when I realize there are tears in my mother's eyes.

For the first time, I look ahead to the end of the aisle, and my heart immediately settles. I look nowhere else now, nowhere else other than Peeta's sparkling blue eyes. My eyes have latched onto his and I refuse to let go.

I have found my rock again, my Peeta. My boy with the bread who constantly seems to save me.

Suddenly I am there, next to him, and I grab for his hand, not remembering or caring if this was in the very detailed script of what to do. His warmth calms me even further as his fingers close around my icy hands.

I don't pay attention to what I am instructed to say, my mouth mindlessly forming the empty words that makes the Capitol audience simper. These aren't words that I would say and I have long given up trying to distinguish the real from the not real.

But I do know one thing: Peeta is my reality now, by choice or not, and Gale is, and always will be, a question mark, a what-could-have-been. And, really, there could be a much worse reality than Peeta.

So I resolutely link myself to Peeta, both in my heart and in this farce of a wedding. He must see some of this trueness in my eyes because there is something different in his own eyes, something dancing with joy that can't be because of the show we are putting on. And when he leans in to kiss me after we exchange gold bands, I can just make out some real from the not real as our lips meet in a sealing kiss.

We don't speak immediately, but I give a small nod of my head to him as the people watching erupt into applause and whistles.

I can be content, if not happy. I can salvage some kind of life from this wreckage. I will try to win back some remnant of what the Capitol took from me, in spite of their best efforts to destroy my life.

No, I am not Katniss Everdeen. I am Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, a shiny and polished, giddy and smiling, deadly and sharp product of the Capitol.

But, no matter who I am now, I am still alive. And that has always been a feat in itself.


	3. Arrival

**Chapter 2**

A/N: If you like it, please review! Constructive criticism is welcome, too.

I twist the little gold band absentmindedly around my finger, focusing on the cool metal against my skin rather than allow myself to snap at Effie as she watches, aghast, as Thalia fits impressive amounts of food into her mouth.

The boy, Westen, is a merchant kid and so is able to show a bit more restraint. Thalia, however, probably hasn't had a decent meal her whole life and is already on her second plate, but at least she has enough control to use a fork.

Peeta and I sit across from them, not saying anything as we take some food ourselves.

"You might want to take it easy. I know it's hard, but the food is very rich and will come back up if you're not careful." I say. Effie makes a face and looks away but doesn't comment on my blunt warning.

Thalia makes a concerted effort to slow down, but I can already tell she is going to be feeling queasy. Westen just keeps plowing through the steak and yogurt stew.

"So, would you two like to mentored together or separately?" I ask.

Neither of them answer, but Thalia shoots a quick sideways glance at her district partner. I wonder if she is seeing their age difference, or maybe she is seeing the wiry muscle of Westen's arms, or the approximately 5-inch difference in their height. Whatever she sees, she simply shrugs in response.

"Why don't you guys start by telling us a bit about what you can do." Peeta offers kindly. "Westen?"

"Call me Wes." is the only reply we get as he spoons more stew onto his plate.

"Alright, Wes. What can you do?" Peeta asks.

"Nothing."

I huff impatiently. It's a good thing that Haymitch doesn't show up for the first day anymore. Wes would be getting a bit more than just huffs.

"Well, you would be surprised the different strengths that could come in handy. Strength of any sort, handy with a knife, even some instinctual characteristics. If you are knowledgeable in certain areas…" Peeta trails off.

"Look, the only people who've got a shot at winning are those that have experience with weapons. And since we live in District 12 and I'm not a criminal," Wes' eyes shift to me before continuing, "I have no experience with any weapons. Unless you count a sewing needle."

I bristle at the jab he so obviously directed at me and narrow my eyes. I knew that there had sometimes been a bit of superiority among the merchant families, but they had wanted to trade with me just as much as anyone in the Hob, so I had never been subjected to it. At least not to my face. Peeta's hand is sitting on my knee, slightly restraining.

I simply remain silent, trying to keep to my plan of avoiding any adverse interactions with the tributes for at least the first day.

"I want to be mentored alone." Thalia speaks up for the first time and I snap my gaze over to her.

Peeta nods and picks up his fork, grateful for the change of subject, "I guess we will continue this separately later, then."

I pick at my food a bit, still quite full from lunch earlier. Besides, Thalia and Wes were starting to go for fourth helpings and I could hear the serving spoons starting to scrape the dish bottoms.

After the decadent pudding, we all move in silence to the television car to watch the replay of the reapings.

District 1 has another lovely set of tributes, both volunteers again. District 2 also has two volunteers. I try to gauge the reaction of our two, but they just sit wide-eyed. Stunned, almost. Wes catches me staring, so I focus back on the screen.

District 4 provides a couple of solid 16 year-olds.

No one else really stands out until District 7's statuesque and beautiful girl tribute, her gleaming brown eyes striking against her pale skin. I purse my lips, wondering what her slender hands can do with an axe.

I feel a jolt of anguish when I see that District 11 will once again be sending a 12 year-old, this time a frightened looking boy with trembling lips. I look away, too reminded of—

_No, do not think her name._

I shove the thought to the recesses of my mind and watch the replay of Thalia and Wes being chosen. There is never a close up of my face, but Peeta's steady and handsome features, passive but grave, are shown every so often.

The announcers' excited Capitol accents overlay the video, "Well, I must say, the days of underestimating that charming little coal district are long gone! Ever since the exhilarating dual victory two years ago, when we saw possibly the greatest love story of all time-"

I switch off the television, not wanting to hear anymore of the glorified praise for those terrible days that still haunt my nightmares.

Thalia has her head in her hands, her shoulders slumped forward. I figure her thoughts are with the faces of all the people who have to die if she ever wants to see her family again. Or maybe she is one of the tributes, like Wes, who has already given up the thought of winning, and instead her thoughts are with the faces of those she believes will kill her.

Either way, the day has been long and both of them look tired, not to mention the fact that I feel weary myself.

"Get to bed." I can't manage more than that, but both of them stand without question and make their way to their own rooms.

Effie bids us goodnight as well, oblivious to the tension gripping us all.

It is silent now except for the low hum of the train, ghosting over the scarred land of Panem. I think of the eleven other trains, all making their way to the same destination, all carrying two frightened children. None of them, not even the arrogant Careers, know what is in store for them.

"Which district do you think we are passing right now?" I ask.

Peeta, who is still sitting on the couch with me, raises his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently, that was not what he had been expecting me to say.

"I'm not sure."

I nod. Of course, we have a very general idea of the layout of Panem, but it is vague and mostly relative. For example, we know that District 11 is very large and to the south of us. We know that District 10 is to the west of us, and that the smoldering remains of District 13 are all that can be found to the east.

"Do you think they have a shot at even surviving the first day?" The whispered words feel traitorous on my lips, but the only images in my mind are Wes' already-defeated expression and Thalia's hidden face and slumped shoulders.

Peeta does not answer me this time; instead, he stands up and takes my hand.

"Let's get some sleep."

I nod in reply before following him wordlessly back to our room.

The nightmares that night are the worst I've had in a long time.

The next morning flies by in a whirl. I cannot bring myself to eat anything, but sip on some hot chocolate while encouraging Wes and Thalia to try and stomach what they can. Thalia, in particular, is much too thin and a few more pounds would be invaluable in the arena.

I am dumping a bit more fruit onto Thalia's plate when Haymitch stumbles into the dining car, his shirt buttoned incorrectly and his face haggard, no doubt hung over.

Peeta and I ignore him as he slumps into one of the empty chairs, his face pulling a pained expression, presumably a response to Effie's constant stream of Capitol-accented comments and suggestions.

"And I just _can't _wait to see what Cinna and Portia have in mind for you two. You know that they had their own special short series on television recently, it was marvelous. Now, I know you may be feeling concerned, but Cinna and Portia have done amazing things with people less attractive than yourselves. Maybe this year-"

"Shut up." Haymitch groans, rubbing at his temples.

Effie looks deeply affronted, but before she can begin her lecture, Wes speaks up.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Abernathy." His voice is heavy with disdain.

I snort, knowing that it's going to be a long couple of days if Wes is already taking offense at Haymitch's behavior. Unfortunately, this brings his attention to me.

"What, you find this funny?" He looks ready to spring and his fork seems poised for attack.

I open my mouth with a few choice words at the ready, but Peeta beats me to it.

"Watch it." His usually pleasant voice is low and threatening.

"Could we all _please _try to get along?" Effie interrupts shrilly, her wide eyes darting from Peeta to Wes.

"Just….just tell us what we need to do." Thalia, too, is looking nervously around at all of our faces.

After a beat, I go with the advice that Haymitch had given us, "Stay alive."

Wes just grunts indignantly, taking out his frustrations on the remaining bits of his breakfast.

"Seeing as you requested to be mentored separately, there isn't much more work we can do here." Peeta's voice is back to normal as he shifts his attention to Thalia, "Your stylists are getting you for the day; do exactly as they say, even the unpleasant parts. No complaining, you want to make a good impression. That goes for both of you."

I am slightly pleased to see them both nod in assent, showing that they hadn't completely lost hope.

Suddenly, the light from the windows is extinguished, signaling our impending arrival. I grasp for Peeta's hand and he obligingly twines his fingers with mine.

Before long, light is bursting back, along with the brightly colored Capitol. Wes and Thalia both hop up to get a closer look, unable to hide their curiosity.

Haymitch speaks for the first time, seeing as he had been amusedly watching the tense exchange minutes ago and hadn't felt the need to contribute, "Find out as much as you can about them," he murmurs so that only those of us at the table can hear, "Maybe we can bring another one home this year."

I look away, afraid to allow myself to hope.

"Well, if it isn't the Girl on Fire herself."

I leap off the couch, a genuine smile on my face for the first time since arriving.

"Cinna!" I embrace one of the few people in the Capitol whom I like and he laughs somewhat wearily.

"Katniss," We pull away and observe each other, "You look…thin."

I shoo away his fingers, which are twirling in the loose fabric at my waist. I am wearing the same thing I had worn to the station, figuring it was the best choice. Effie had been aghast that I was wearing the same thing twice, but by then there had been no time for her to make me change.

"And you look tired." I retort, hoping to shift the focus away from myself.

He rolls his eyes at my deflection, "Yes, I haven't slept much what with perfecting your tributes' costumes and all."

"What have you got up your sleeve this time? Surely the fire-watching has lost some of its inspiration." I remember back to the magnificent outfits last year that had made our tributes look like burning coal.

"Ah, but that would ruin the surprise. Suffice to say that fire can be created in more ways than one. Nothing, however, will ever outshine the true thing." He smiles wistfully at me.

"So, what have you got for me?" I ask, knowing that he will have to go and meet Thalia soon once the prep team is through with her.

"Something simple for the Victor's Reception today. I don't plan on breaking out the big guns until later." He is walking over to the garment bag hanging in the corner.

The Victor's Reception is a favorite of the Capitol citizens, particularly those who are rich enough or important enough to score admission to the festivities. While the tributes are being prettied up all day, something has to feed the all-consuming fire of excitement that always bubbles up on the first official day of the Hunger Games ceremonies.

I'm not too keen on mingling with other victors, breaking out my empty smile, or, worst of all, playing nice with possibly the slimiest group of Capitolites Panem has to offer.

My attention is reclaimed by Cinna as he removes a cream and black dress, which I eye nervously. I undress and step into it, the silky material slipping over my now hairless skin. I had had to face my own preparations, though mine were significantly less intensive, but it had been more uncomfortable than usual since it wasn't by my usual group of beauticians.

"What do you think?"

I look in the full length mirror, taking in how the ruched body of the dress strategically hides my lack of curves; he either was expecting my unhealthy weight loss or had been in contact with someone who witnessed it. The only ridiculous part is the oversized black ruffle that runs across the neckline and over the one shoulder strap. Overall, I can't complain.

"It does its job." I say nonchalantly, but smirk playfully at Cinna in the mirror.

The smirk fades when I see him smiling sadly again, his hand gently tugging at the loose waist. "Try to start eating enough, Katniss. We won't be able to hide you forever."

I'm confused, but let it go when the door behind us opens and an Avox comes in, note in hand for Cinna. Our time is up.

"Well, Thalia is ready for me. Any suggestions with her?" He folds the note up and hands it back to the Avox, who leaves the room.

"Nothing really. I don't know her much." I shrug before adding, "She's just a scared 13 year-old girl; try to give her some confidence."

Cinna nods and starts for the door before turning back to me, pointing sternly at the tall black pumps by the garment bag, "Wear those." He knows too well that I would try to escape the feet killers, "And eat something." This time he is pointing at the untouched lunch that had been provided for me.

The door closes and I am left alone. Peeta had been pulled from my side the minute we had entered the Remake Center as they have to make sure that each victor looks presentable when the cameras start flashing.

Ignoring the shoes, I move grudgingly back to the table of now-cold food. It's the lamb stew that had been made famous by me. Effie had commented on how it had popped up on every menu in the Capitol, which kind of ruined it for me.

But I pick at it and manage to eat an entire bowl, if only because Cinna told me to. It is slightly cold, but I can't deny that it still tastes fantastic.

I am considering serving myself a bit more before the Avox is coming back, this time with a note for me.

_Mrs. Everdeen-Mellark,_

_ Please report to the foyer of the Remake Center in preparation for the Victor's _

_Reception. Your cooperation is appreciated._

"My cooperation is appreciated." More like forced. I shake my head and push the thought into the back of my mind, not needing to be oozing bitterness when I am expected to be the blushing newlywed, the Girl on Fire.

I slip on the ridiculous shoes and follow the Avox, who leads me down to the appointed meeting place. Other victors are starting to arrive and I scan the growing crowd for a familiar blond head.

"Looking for me, beautiful?" A sultry voice whispers into my ear and I jump, turning around.

If I hadn't recognized the voice, then there would be no mistaking the dazzling smile, bronze hair, or sparkling sea-green eyes. I roll my eyes as I turn to continue my search for Peeta.

"Hello, Finnick." I offer as he moves in closer to me, ignoring any sense of personal space.

"You're breaking my heart, Girl on Fire." He grabs at his chest in a dramatic showing of mock hurt, "Surely, after a year of being deprived of my presence, you can give me more than just '_hello.'"_

Realizing that he isn't going to go away, I turn and give him my full attention for the first time. His impressive physique is on display as he wears a well-fitted suit, the white shirt hugging his defined chest.

"What did you have in mind for a proper greeting?" I ask, resisting the urge to take a step back. It would only encourage him.

"Well, first I would suggest losing the uncomfortable pinched look…" his warm breath dances on my skin and, as is the usual case whenever I speak to the District 4 victor, my face flushes.

I take the hint; he is reminding me to fall back into my role and lose the scowl.

Immediately I flash my cheesiest smile and flutter my eyelashes pathetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Odair. I just can't seem to keep control of myself whenever you are around."

He smiles approvingly and takes a step back. "Where's Peeta?" his voice is back to normal and I sigh in relief. Finnick's playful flirting is tiring to deal with.

"I don't know, I was just looking for him." I search the circles of old friends and find him standing in the far corner, talking to Haymitch and Chaff. I make to move towards him, but Finnick's hand lightly grasps my forearm to stop me.

"Leaving so soon?" Flirty Finnick's voice is back and I roll my eyes again.

"I can only take so much Odair charm at a time."

"You're going to have to get used to not being glued to each other's sides eventually. Might as well start now." He releases his hold, but casually places himself between me and Peeta.

"Why's that?" I ask curiously, "Are we ditching the star-crossed lovers' angle now that we tied the knot?"

"No, not at all. Just that, as veteran victors now, there is a lot of demand for your time. Parties, interviews, dinners…they'll probably figure the star-crossed lovers can cover more ground separately." Finnick says this as he himself scans the crowd, his voice nonchalant but his eyes hard.

I knit my eyebrows in curiosity, not sure what he is talking about but figuring it isn't all that important.

There is a voice now directing us to begin the procession. Peeta weaves his way towards me and we link arms, pasting our smiles on and following the others out the doors. I wave to the crowds of Capitolites lining the barriers of the path to the Sine, eager to get a look at their beloved victors.

There are so many cameras and people shouting at us that I am not sure which way to turn. Thankfully I have Peeta as an anchor, who holds me tight as I wobble unsteadily.

The Victor's Reception wasn't required viewing in the districts, but we usually had it on anyway. The televised portion is simply the prettied up victors making their way across the short distance from the Remake Center to the Sine, a large and luxurious building that houses the victors who are not mentoring tributes and hosts most of the Hunger Games-related parties, victors' social activities, and any other fancy tortures the Capitol could come up with to put us through.

Older victors are able to walk across the bright fuschia-colored carpet modestly and escape into the more private receiving area of the Sine; however the more popular, more attractive, and younger victors are forced to make a very slow progression, stopping to wave, smile, pose, and greet all the way across.

Unfortunately, Peeta and I fit into the latter group. In fact, our reception is one of the few that rivals Finnick's. Finally, after indulging countless requests for us to kiss and enduring the increasing pain in my squeezed-together toes, we found solace in the relatively quieter foyer of the Sine.

"You probably need this." I snatch the tiny crystal tub of lip balm from Finnick's hand. He then turns to smile at my husband, "How are you, Peeta?" I childishly feel irritated at the comfortable way in which Peeta and Finnick greet each other, though I'm not sure why. Maybe because I feel Peeta should be more disgruntled about the fact that Finnick is constantly flirting with his wife.

"_You know he's only teasing you," _Peeta had assured me with an odd smile when I had angrily lashed out last year after our first few encounters with the District 4 victor.

Grudgingly, I twist off the cap and dab the cooling gel onto my lips, because he had been right, they were rather chapped now.

I offer it to Peeta, but he declines and Finnick's smile grows when I hand the tub back to him.

"Thank you," the gratitude is hard to find in my voice, but Finnick is unfazed.

"You're welcome. Well, I guess we should start mingling, there will be plenty of time to catch up." Finnick starts to drift away, but he turns to look over his shoulder one more time, "Try to enjoy yourself, Katniss."

Another reminder that my façade has slipped. I replace it immediately and we follow his example, linking arms and wandering into the richly ordained main hall. This was where Peeta and I had gotten married, but it looks so drastically different now.

Instead of endless white drapes and massive flower arrangements, it is dark and elegant. There isn't much in the way of a meal, but food-laden trays are aplenty, offering hors d'oeuvres and drinks.

"You should try this one." Peeta is holding up a half eaten hors d'oeuvre that resembles a miniscule salad contained in some kind of shell.

I eye it carefully before stealing the rest of his.

"Hey, we could have gotten you your own." Peeta teases, but I just shrug.

"Hungry, my dear Katniss?" A smooth voice is behind me and I turn, surprised, wondering who is addressing me in such a familiar way.

I am not met with the mischievous grin or easy wit of Finnick Odair this time, but the slick smile and hungry black eyes of a stranger. I smile back while automatically linking myself back to Peeta, who manages to look pleasantly surprised.

"How can you not be with all this wonderful food?" I ask, hastily remembering his question.

"Ah, yes, such delectable choices are offered at these functions." His eyes have not left my face once, not even to greet Peeta.

"Well, you know my name; I think it's only fair to ask yours." I play up the charm, my discomfort making me slip a bit.

"Paris Amedous, at your service." With that, he takes my free hand and places a warm kiss on the back of it.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you." I carefully reclaim my hand and sink further into Peeta, who has been curiously examining our exchange. Paris' eyes dart to Peeta before flicking back to me, the first time he has acknowledged his presence.

"Surely you wouldn't mind joining me for a dance?" He holds out his hand expectantly, which I take. It would not do to refuse; if this man is here, then he is surely someone very important or very wealthy. But probably both.

I look to Peeta once, who is measuring my expression and seems reluctant to let me go.

"Of course not." I return my attention to Paris, who smiles back at me before leading me to the center of the hall, where other couples are twirling to the music.

"You look simply ravishing tonight, Katniss. The year has treated you well." Paris' voice has dropped a bit.

We are moving in a simple step that doesn't require much dancing skill, which is good since I have virtually zero of that. However, I do notice with distaste how closely he is holding my body to his, as well as how low his hand has fallen below my waist.

I am not used to being touched so familiarly by men other than Peeta, but I know that this particular man, with his hungry leer and wandering hand, is particularly unsettling.

"Thank you, Mr. Amedous."

He chuckles lowly and I am pressed close enough to feel the vibration in his chest, "Please, call me Paris."

I swallow, my throat sticking, and only manage to smile in response.

The song is finished and he leads me to the edge of the dance floor, but does not relinquish his hold on my hand. I notice that we are on the opposite side of the room from Peeta, who continues to shoot glances in my direction while also holding a conversation with a woman wearing very little clothing, revealing the swirls of multicolored tattoos adorning every inch of her skin.

"I always admired your lovely pin. Such delicate craftsmanship." As Paris says this, his hand shoots out to touch it, which is nestled in the black ruffle on my neckline.

As his thumb caresses the gold mockingjay, the back of his hand brushes at the exposed skin above my dress. An uncomfortable chill shivers up my spine, but I manage to hide my revulsion.

"Thank you," I choke out, unsure of what to say.

"You're welcome." His hand continues to linger and I resist the urge to draw away from his unwelcome touch. Instead, I continue to look him in his unnervingly black eyes, wondering if the color is natural. In contrast to his smooth pale skin and dyed-white hair, they are unable to be missed.

"Katniss, Ms. Fenimore over here is very eager to meet you." Peeta had managed to find his way over to us, his easy smile in place even as he notices the still-lingering hand of Paris Amedous.

"Oh, lovely." I immediately take Peeta's arm, the movement pulling me away from the unwelcome contact, "It was a pleasure, Paris."

"The pleasure was all mine." He nods his fair head before turning away.

I sigh in relief, but turn to continue with our charade, this time clinging to Peeta tightly and hoping I won't be pulled away again.


	4. Feel the Heat

**Chapter 3**

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

"Paris Amedous."

I nod my head at Haymitch. The event had finally ended and we are waiting at the back of the Sine for an available car to take us back to the Training Center. It seems silly that we are forced to wait to be driven back across the street, but, according to Haymitch, they like to keep tight reins on their victors. Plus, the City Circle is still quite full of Capitolites all buzzing about the Victor's Reception and the upcoming Tribute Parade, so it would probably be impossible to get back without being harassed again.

"Yes, the name is familiar. I know an Amycus Amedous, this Paris you met must be his son." Haymitch hiccups slightly before continuing, "Amycus is probably one of the wealthiest men in the Capitol. _Amedous Accessories_ is the biggest jewelry and finery brand here."

I remember the way Paris had taken notice of my pin and its craftsmanship, perhaps because he had grown up around jewelry and had an eye for it. Then I remember his cold touch and I shiver.

Thinking that I am cold in spite of the warm breeze and sunshine, Peeta removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, but Haymitch just watches me with a cold stare. I wonder how many of me he is seeing, since he hadn't been shy with the liquor.

"That slimeball took a liking to you, I hear." Haymitch's voice is just as cold as his glare and I bristle. How was I supposed to control who _took a liking to_ me?

"He asked me to dance."

Before anyone can say anything else, a black car with dark windows pulls up. As we all move to get in, the driver gets out and holds up a hand.

"I'm just here for Mrs. Everdeen-Mellark. Another car will be here soon to take you to the Training Center." His voice is clipped and authoritative as he opens the door and signals for me to get in.

"Where are you-" Peeta begins, but Haymitch silences him.

"Go on." Haymitch instructs me gruffly.

I hesitate for a second more before sliding into the backseat, my eyes not leaving Peeta's until the car door shuts. This could not be good.

We drive only for a short distance before the door is opened again and I am being escorted into one of the side doors of Snow's mansion. My heart sinks even further, not up for a meeting with the vile man.

It is silent except for our soft footsteps, slightly muffled in the plush carpeting. I wonder if the attendant next to me can hear my heart thumping against my ribcage. I twist my fingers in the silk of my dress, thinking that this cannot be common procedure, to meet President Snow one on one so frequently. But what did I know? I was new to this world of victors and plush carpets and tiny hors d'oeuvres that were barely more than a bite of food.

Finally, my escort stops and opens a heavy wooden door on the left but does not follow me as I step in. I take in the room, a sickly sweet and floral smell overtaking anything else, and I spot a large vase of perfect red roses on the table.

Trying not to breathe through my nose, I sink into one of the cushioned chairs without invitation, my feet screaming in protest. Surely these shoes were just another way the Capitol had found to torture me.

I wait for who knows how long, watching the light slowly grow fainter through the wavy glass of the single window. At least if I was being forced to wait, I had a comfortable chair to sit in. I try to focus on this and not the tense anticipation that was nearly sending the little amount of food I had consumed back up.

Finally, when only a soft gray light could be seen through the window and long after the golden lights in the room had automatically come on, the door opens to reveal my most hated enemy.

President Snow does not comment on the fact that he had made me wait for so long, or on the fact that my shoes lay discarded next to my bare feet. He moves into the room, a small smile on his detestable face.

"How lovely to see you, Katniss."

I don't reply, but just merely continue staring blankly at him.

"We are rather short on time, so I'll get right to it. I have asked you here to discuss a topic of a certain level of delicacy." He sits across from me and pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, "Before we begin, I must insist that you understand the ramifications if you decide not to cooperate."

"What do you want me to do?" I am pleased, at least, that my voice sounds steady and stoic.

He smiles again and it seems sadistic, "As you have already witnessed, our victors are held very near to the hearts of Panem. You enjoy elevated status, a life of ease, and unrestrained admiration."

I narrow my eyes, curious as to where this is going. Certainly telling him that I had asked for none of that will do nothing but hurt me. So, instead, I wait for him to get to the point.

"None of this can come without a price, however. In return for a sum, those in the Capitol with the necessary budgets are allowed to gain access to our victors in more personal ways. They can purchase admission to social events not unlike the one you were just at, dinner with a victor of their choice, even an appearance of a victor at their own private parties."

"Yes, Finnick Odair told me about that." Surely the President of Panem did not drag me here to tell me this.

"Ah yes, the handsome Mr. Odair is one of our more popular victors here and is always compliant." Snow hesitates here, "However, for an even heftier price, Capitol citizens are permitted to purchase a more…_intimate_ experience with a victor of their choosing."

I do not understand what he is saying. Something in the back of my mind is revolting against the words, but I cannot wrap my head fully around what is going on.

"We usually hold off for a year or two, maybe three, to garner a better understanding of the interest level. You, my dear, have accumulated quite a collection of admirers since your Games. In fact, the demand for Panem's own Girl on Fire has grown so large as to challenge even our most popular victors."

I do not miss his subtle hints. I owe the Capitol and its citizens for everything, every luxury, I have enjoyed since winning. I no longer belong to myself. I am _their _Girl on Fire, ready to be purchased and used as they please.

Despite my growing revulsion as I begin to fully comprehend what I am being asked to do, a desperate thought climbs to the forefront of my mind.

"Peeta. You cannot do this to Peeta." It feels as if my words are disjointed, but President Snow smiles knowingly.

"I had a feeling that would be a prerequisite. Very well, Peeta Mellark will not participate in these particular transactions, although there is a healthy amount of interest in him, too."

I eye him warily; it feels as if we are bargaining, but that's not right. Even if we were, he holds all the cards; he doesn't have to give to get. I think I begin to understand, though. I have built a bit of a reputation for being difficult and rebellious. Why else would the president himself be telling me this? Why else would he use Peeta's participation as a bartering chip? He's buying my obedience.

With this in mind, I press my luck, "I do not want Peeta to know. He can't know any of it."

Snow hesitates, as if pondering this request, "Very well, but I must ask something in return." I nod, playing along, "You must be at your best behavior with every client. You must comply with everything asked, no matter how odd or strange it may seem to you. You must not harm anyone. You must be worth every penny they are spending."

I nod, knowing that all of this would be required anyway. "Fine." Behind the sickening disgust, I feel a small relief. I've protected Peeta, something that has been one of my main objectives in life now.

"I have to remind you, however, that there are only so many mouths I can control. You cannot hold it against me if he finds out from someone else."

"But-" I begin to argue.

He holds out his palm to stop me, "But I will agree to do everything in my power to keep him from finding out. _If_ you behave."

Again, I nod, unsure if words will fail me. The sky is dark, surely the Tribute Parade will be starting very soon. Apparently Snow realizes this as well as he stands and looks down at me imperiously.

"You're first is already lined up. You will be escorted to a rendezvous room at the Sine tomorrow evening. Now, I have had your team brought here to help you prepare for the Tribute Parade." He walks to the door, but just before he exits, he turns back, "Don't forget to smile."

With that he is gone, but I have no time to react, no time to lose my mind, because just then my prep team is being ushered in quickly. They all look nervous and skittish, but still in wonderment, probably the effect of being in the President's mansion.

I completely ignore the jabbering as they hastily pull at my hair and polish my skin. Only when they pull out the dress do I snap to attention. They pull it over my head and zip me up, and when I see the neckline that plunges far past my bosom, it all comes together: the inching up of hems, the sudden interest in my figure, the odd behavior of my friends, and the subtle hints from Finnick Odair.

I finger the satin smooth fabric clinging to my thin body, wanting to rip it off and burn it. It's bright red and the material has an odd sheen to it that almost makes it glow. I am very much a high class whore now.

I nearly sprint for the door when it opens, hindered only by a new pair of heels. I have to get out, I have to escape. As I follow an escort quickly down the lavish hallways, my heartbeat quickens to an impossible pace, sweat makes the palms of my hands sticky, and it feels as if I cannot catch my breath. Is this what a heart attack feels like?

My mind doesn't seem to work right, as if addled by the burning-sweet rose fumes. I feel the need to run, to escape, to cry, to scream, but, most of all, I feel the desire to kill President Snow, to rake my fingers down his snake face, to sink an arrow into his cold heart. We are outside now and I welcome the fresh air on my face, but it doesn't last long as I am directed into the back of another car.

_Breathe, just breathe._

I manage to calm myself down enough to take in my surroundings. The streets are crowded with hideously adorned people as they are worked into a frenzy awaiting the tributes' entrance. In the square, a massive screen dominates, showing a package of all the best highlights from previous games, but surely waiting to show live footage from the event tonight.

Suddenly, my own arena-worn face fills the screen and I look away, not wanting to see any part of those horrific days. When we arrive, I follow blindly as I am taken to the designated seating area for victors. The viewing deck above the seats is empty, meaning that I have made it just in time.

Someone is holding my arm as I am guided down dimly-lit steps and shown my seat. I finally snap out of my stupor when I see Peeta's relieved face as I sit in the seat next to him.

"Are you okay?" He whispers quietly while taking my hand.

I cling to him, not wanting to ever let go, and nod once.

Suddenly, the music blasts signaling the first chariot. I look down and plaster another faux smile of anticipation on my face, knowing that there are many cameras in the vicinity. Resolve hardens my emotions into something useful: Peeta will not be subjected to this particular horror of the Capitol.

There is a din of screams, whistles, and cheers from the crowd as the chariots pass, all the tributes dressed in ridiculous outfits. Everything seems to blur, though, and I barely manage to notice the outfits my own tributes are wearing as the black horses pull into view.

They both are shimmering red and it looks as if they are a lethal spark, waiting to explode into actual flame. It is a marvelous effect and I smooth down my own dress, realizing that their costumes are probably the same material magnified by about a thousand. They shimmer, flicker, and burn all at once.

Cinna and Portia have certainly kept with the fire theme, even so much as to distance themselves from coal. No matter, though, because the Capitolites are loving it. Loving them.

The rest of the event is over before I know it and suddenly we are standing. I itch at my skin, which still feels like it's crawling from the sight of President Snow. Peeta is holding tight to my hand as we make our way up the stairs.

"Trees, again. What else I was expecting, I have no idea." I hear Johanna griping and turn abruptly in the opposite direction of her voice, dragging Peeta behind me.

Cora of District 4 and Cashmere of District 1 are speaking to each other in low murmurs. Cashmere catches my eye and gives me a cool grin, her eyes raking my form in such a way that I feel even more self-conscious.

I turn away from them as I hear Haymitch beckoning to us. We are not obligated to mingle right now, so we gratefully make haste back to the Training Center.

"Oh, wasn't it just fabulous!" Effie is already gushing as we join her near the car she was waiting by, "They both looked amazing!"

We are treated to a complete replay of the events as our dear escort dramatically goes through all her favorite moments. I am, for the first time, fine with it since I don't feel much like talking or answering questions.

She mentions having to meet with a coordinator before promising to join us for dinner.

"Go ahead and start without me. It should only take a skip!"

It remains quiet as we enter the doors, but Peeta breaks the silence once we are in the elevator.

"What did he want?" He doesn't have to specify who 'he' is.

"He wanted to make sure I am going to behave." I offer, not elaborating.

"Behave?"

Haymitch saves me from the explanation, "From what I've been told, you two are now going to be entertaining Capitol citizens who can afford your company, joining them for dinner, attending different parties, such as the like, and usually separately. It is known that Peeta is all the charm in your relationship, so she got a stern talking to about being…amiable."

Haymitch knows. I can tell by the look on his face.

Peeta still looks a bit suspicious, but drops it when I nod my agreement with the explanation.

We get off the elevator at level 12 and are greeted by the uneasy faces of our tributes.

"We were wondering when you would get here." Wes, still in his dazzling suit, says, but there is no venom in his voice; he sounds more relieved than anything.

"How do you think it went?" Thalia is twisting her dress around her fingers, her eyebrows pulled together.

The sight of them brings me back to reality; they should still be my first priority. After all, that is what I am here for. They are the ones going into the arena. They are the ones facing death.

"I think you were both adequate, but you are going to have to pull great performances in the interviews if we are going to line up any significant sponsors." Peeta, ever reasonable and yet still encouraging.

"Let's get to dinner." Haymitch says gruffly.

"I'm not hungry." I take half a step towards our room before being roughly stopped by Haymitch.

"Yes, you are."

I try to wrench myself from his grip but he just twists my arm, ignoring my protests as he nearly drags me to the table. The others follow, Peeta whispering something to the other two that draws nervous laughter. I know it was probably at my and Haymitch's expense.

When I get to the table, laden with an enormous amount of food, I realize that I was wrong. I am hungry. In fact, I feel famished.

Peeta watches in slight concern as I shovel bite after bite of every kind of food into my mouth, savoring the richness and relishing in the flavors. Food has never had quite this kind of draw. Even when I was on the brink of death from starvation, my stomach had had a stopping point. Right now, it feels as if I will never be satisfied.

I ignore the little bit of mentoring going on, mostly from Peeta, in favor of focusing on the food before us. Stews, rice, breads, and salads all find their way to my plate before I ravish them, indulging this incessant hunger. I look up, surprised that I had not even noticed the arrival of Effie, Cinna, and Portia.

One of those odd looks from Cinna hits me like a fist in the gut. He knows, too.

"I'm not feeling well. I'm going to bed." I say abruptly. I drop the last bits of orange chicken leg and shove my chair back, waving at the confused farewells from my dining mates. I hurry down the hall to my room, eager to purge myself of this disgusting indulgence.

I had never, ever brought food back up deliberately, but it isn't hard to figure out how to do it. I heave over the edge of the toilet, forcing out my dinner and hoping that everything the Capitol had instilled and implanted in me comes with it.

No such luck. I am still Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, Capitol Product-turned-Capitol Commodity. I am still a victor. I am still a mentor. I am still a soon-to-be whore. The only difference now is the vile taste in my mouth and shameful feeling of my empty stomach.

I vigorously brush my teeth before ripping my hair out of its restraints, scrubbing roughly at the makeup on my face, and stripping off the dress.

I am just making my way across the room to find something to sleep in when Peeta joins me, his brow furrowed in concern as he leans against the closed door.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just tired." I'm playing again, playing pretend with the one person I thought I could be real with. Oh, how much they have taken from me. I add a small smile and realize how good of a liar I have become when this seems to appease him. He used to know me so well.

When he begins to strip off his clothes, another hunger rises up in me, sending a heated fire through my veins. My body is demanding to be indulged again and I cannot resist. I surprise him when I roughly turn him to face me and smash my lips into his, tasting the deliciousness of his mouth.

It's not enough; I need more. Urgently I tug at his belt, pressing my half naked body against his but needing so much more.

His hands restrain mine all of a sudden and he pulls away, looking down at me with a strange expression.

"Katniss, what-"

I cut him off with a kiss before whispering back, "Please, Peeta."

He examines my face again before leaning in hesitantly to reclaim my lips.

I return to tugging at his pants, finally freeing him of the garment which he kicks aside. The hunger roars inside the pit of my abdomen as we strip down naked, my heated body pressed into his, our sweaty skin sticking slightly.

I moan in anticipation when I feel him pressed against my leg and he is spurred on, caught up in the aggressive tone I have set. We are on the bed now, tangling with each other as his head drops to my chest, his hot mouth drawing guttural sounds from my throat. I arch against him pressing our stomachs together, wrapping my legs around his hips and trying to draw him closer. A growing desire to mold to Peeta and conjoin into one being heats my skin until it feels like I truly am on fire.

His hands become like iron as they restrain my arms above my head. There's a sense of urgency, but I welcome the pain and relish the pleasure. He has released my wrists and now my hands are raking at the skin on his back, surely drawing blood.

It is intense and amazing, and I wonder how I can possibly do this knowing what I am going to have to do in a day's time, but the answer is simple; I had to feel Peeta one more time, be with my savior, my rock, my husband one last time before someone else can lay claim to me. I had to remind myself that while they may use my body however they please, my heart will always belong to this man.

We both collapse into each other, riding the waves of our ecstasy as lights pop in front of my eyes. The hunger is satiated and I do not feel the awful need to purge myself again. Instead, I cling to him, my fingers running soothing lines into his back, his lips pressed comfortingly against my neck. His warm breath tickles my skin as he gasps for air and I can feel that we are both a bit shaky.

I sleep in his arms all night and, even though I have endured such a horrific day, I sleep without nightmares of what is to come.


End file.
